


A Crash Course In Family History

by Marzi



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Richelieu, Established Relationship, Family, Gay Treville, Gen, Humor, M/M, Tags TBA, Unexpected family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzi/pseuds/Marzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My name is Anne. I believe you knew my mother in Austria, some years ago. I'm your daughter."</p><p>Armand dropped his briefcase, which all too gladly sprang open, spewing case files all over the floor. Several glossy photos of evidence whistled through the air before attempting to lodge themselves between Armand's expensive leather shoes and the hardwood floor. The edge of the briefcase itself seemed to have managed to land on his foot, though he didn't utter a sound. His eyes were round with surprise, and his skin, not prone to tanning, was paler than normal.</p><p>Jean was so enraptured by his response, that what Anne was saying barely registered to him. Armand, speechless. Had the world come to an end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing with my life?

When Jean opened the door, the petite blonde on the threshold had her eyes fixed on the doormat. The mat bore a weather and use faded fleur-de-lis, he and Armand having never agreed on what constituted an appropriate welcome into their home. Jean always considered 'bienvenue' an acceptable staple, while Armand found the most useful message to the majority of people who would approach their door to be 'fuck off'.

She raised her head at his cautious hello, jaw set with what he could only describe as determination. Her bright blue eyes were steely, but when they landed on his face, something in them faltered. She looked... hopeful?

"Armand Richelieu?"

Jean was typically the one to invite company over, if they had any at all. Their home was a space mostly reserved for just the two of them. Some of Armand's regular clients and Porthos were just about the only people to grace their dinner table, making unexpected guests unheard of for them.

He took a step back from the door and turned to project his voice down the hall. "Armand? Someone at the door for you." When he turned back towards her he smiled, putting a hand out in invitation. "Please, come in."

Her gaze hardened, becoming distant as she nodded to what could only be herself before stepping inside. Jean's smile faltered at that, though he felt more worry than fear. She looked like she was preparing herself for the gallows. Maybe she was a prospective client. Some of the people Armand represented were in way over their heads, though they generally preferred the privacy of his office to voice their troubles. He closed the door just as Armand tromped down the hallway in the midst of one of his rants.

"She threw another file into my briefcase, no wonder the latches didn't close. I swear to God I will cut her bleeding heart out myself next time I see her, where does she think I have the time? Or does she think that the work being free means the time is too? If all I do are pro bono cases, how am I supposed to eat?"

Jean cast an apologetic look towards their mysterious house-guest, not surprised to see the determined set of her jaw was back.

It was best not to let him get too carried away, no matter how determined she seemed to weather it. "Armand."

The volume of his voice drew his husband's focus away from the briefcase in his hands, which did look to be resisting all of Armand's attempts to latch it. His eyes first went to Jean, before landing on the woman. His brow knit together and he frowned rather than apologize for his violent tirade.

"Who are you?"

Jean rolled his eyes.

The woman raised up her chin. "Armand Richelieu?"

"Yes?" His gaze flickered back to Jean, who only responded with a shrug.

"My name is Anne. I believe you knew my mother in Austria, some years ago. I'm your daughter."

Armand dropped his briefcase, which all too gladly sprang open, spewing case files all over the floor. Several glossy photos of evidence whistled through the air before attempting to lodge themselves between Armand's expensive leather shoes and the hardwood floor. The edge of the briefcase itself seemed to have managed to land on his foot, though he didn't utter a sound. His eyes were round with surprise, and his skin, not prone to tanning, was paler than normal.

Jean was so enraptured by his response, that what Anne was saying barely registered to him. Armand, speechless. Had the world come to an end?

"I-- you-- what--"

And now he was floundering. Perhaps Jean should have bought the lottery ticket he had been eyeing the other day. The cheap bottle of wine he had opted to pair with the take-out had seemed the better option when curled up next to his husband, but now... Perhaps they would have been rich. Not that they had any complaints to make about money, no matter what Armand said about not being able to feed--

\--wait, had she said she was his daughter?

Jean tore his eyes away from Armand to look at Anne, trying to find his husband in her features. The imperial posture and unimpressed glower could have been his, but it seemed her mother's genes had determinedly won out in the looks department. Perhaps it was best, as Armand was rather impressively impersonating a fish at the moment. Jean moved forward and took his husband by the arm, leading him to the couch.

"Sit, before you fall down."

"I'm not going to--" He looked down to find himself already sitting, body having been more than ready to comply with Jean's gentle push. His hands stayed out in front of him, as if still holding the briefcase, before slowly sinking into his lap. "Austria? Austria."

It seemed the summer he sometimes spoke of after getting kicked out of seminary was finally coming back to him. Jean's fingers fondly caressed the side of Armand's face as his round eyed shock faded into a glassy stared daze.

"I'll call Constance, tell her her heart is safe from your knife wielding and that you won't be into the office today."

When he stepped away from the couch, he almost walked right into the reason he needed to make his phone call. Of course Anne was still there, he would have heard the door otherwise. Her steely gaze had cracked somewhat with worry, and when her focus turned to Jean, guilt shadowed it as well.

"I didn't mean..."

"Just sit." Though he kept his words soft, Jean did not feel the need to add a 'please' to the end of his sentence. After the bombshell she had just dropped, Armand deserved an explanation, she wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

 

"No Constance, he isn't coming in today."

"What could keep him at home?"

"A... personal matter came up."

"You're the only personal matter he has. Are you alright? Jean Treville, if you're dying you have to tell me now--"

"Constance, I'm fine. Just, re-schedule any meetings he has."

"Wait, he's not coming in at all? This isn't just a delay?"

"What did you think I meant when I said he wasn't coming in?"

"That he'd show up late with bedhead and that smug expression on his face that could only mean--"

A cough.

"Right. Sorry. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Constance, I'm fine."

"Is... he alright?"

"I'll let you know."

* * *

 

When he came back into the front room, it didn't look like either of them had moved. They were staring at each other with a newfangled wariness, though the silence was more awkward than tense. Jean ran a hand across his face and beard, suddenly trying not to laugh. Of course Armand had an unknown love child suddenly appear on their doorstep.

His sister was never going to let him hear the end of it. That thought soured his mirth, and he grimaced before he could smother the feeling. This moment didn't need to be about anyone other than the two statues currently taking up space on his furniture.

"Armand."

His husband's cheek twitched in acknowledgment. He and Anne were apparently locked in a staring contest he was unwillingly to break away from first.

"Do you want me to stay?"

That grabbed Armand's attention, and seemed to almost give him the strength to get up from the couch. "You've been helping them for weeks, you can't skip out on them today."

He crossed his arms, trying not to let the old worry driving his husband bother him. "I'm sure they'd understand if I told them I was needed at home."

"You love children. You hate disappointing them."

"Armand."

"Right, of course. No, no, I'll be fine." He looked back over at Anne, who was doing her best to quash her growing confusion. "I think just the two of us will be... good."

Jean nodded, and saw Anne seem to bow her head in agreement. "Very well." He uncrossed his arms and closed the distance between them. "Call me if you need anything."

Armand nodded, instinctively leaning in as Jean reached out to caress his hair and kiss his forehead. When he stepped back he noted Anne's careful neutral expression, which he took to be the best alternative over shock. If she had displayed anything else, Jean knew Armand would have kicked her out even without an explanation for how and why she had tracked him down.

"Anne. It's been... interesting. Perhaps I'll see you again."

"You will."

He took that as a good sign, too.

* * *

 

The first text said:

_She has a son._

Jean read the message, though didn't even think to respond. This was just Armand letting him know something important, not asking for his opinion. Those would be shared when they could look at each other, and not limit their communication with words.

The other volunteers could tell he was distracted, but the children at the center barely noticed. Not when the robot they had been designing and building that summer was finally, properly, wholly, coming to life. Their enthusiasm was infectious and distracting, tying his mind up with the thought of which of the children would be the first to use the controls, and how best to keep the eldest ones from locking out the younger from their turn.

The next text said:

_We're having lunch Friday._

Which let Jean know the house was just theirs again. However much he itched to go home, he knew it was best to let Armand sit awhile with his thoughts before disturbing him.

He also had to explain to the children why the flamethrower they had asked for had not been incorporated into the robot's design. The icy stares from parents and other volunteers kept his response tactful, if a little a stilted. The sketches for it were still on his workbench at home. Armand had told him to leave it there after the center's program director had roped him into reading Jean a full article about legal liability and the care of minors.

A third, and wholly unexpected, text said:

_There's another one._

Jean could only stare at it, utterly confused. His fingers hovered over the screen, trying to come up with a response, when the phone buzzed in his hand.

_He's a fucking moron._

Worried, Jean immediately called his husband. It barely rang once before it was picked up.

"Armand, what--"

"He won't leave."

"Who won't leave?"

"Louis."

"Why is your voice-- Armand, have you locked yourself in the bathroom?"

"I told you, he won't leave."

"Louis?"

"Yes."

"And who--"

"My son. Apparently."

 _There's another one_. "What?"

"He has a sister. A twin, Christine. She has four children. He showed me pictures of them all."

Three. Three unknown children. And four, no, it was five now, grandchildren. Ninon was definitely never going to let this go. "Armand--"

"His mother is Marie."

There were unpleasant footnotes in his summer after getting kicked out of seminary, as young men had a habit of doing foolish things. And people. "Marie? Marie the Monster? Marie the Murderer? Marie--"

"Yes, that Marie."

"Armand--"

"Jean--"

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

He had barely lowered his phone from his ear when a small hand tugged at his trousers. The round faced seven year old stared up at him plaintively. Five grandchildren.

“Monsieur Treville.”

“Yes?”

“The robot stopped working.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to move this note- and then things got deleted. A summary of the original:
> 
> Louis and Anne never had a relationship in this 'verse.
> 
> Ninon is a fabulous younger sister looking for big bro Jean.
> 
> Robots. Who doesn't like robots?


	2. Chapter 2

  
Jean liked Louis. Even if his first impression was a somewhat unflattering comparison between the man and a puppy who expected a pat on the head after pissing on the carpet. A very adorable and enthusiastic puppy, who at least hadn't chewed on anything. Yet. Armand's description of him was too harsh, though perhaps, somewhat accurate.  
  
Jean was subject to several enthusiastic wallet slideshows of Louis' sister and all her children. He apparently had neither spouse nor children himself. His sister looked somewhat calmer than her brother, if a photo could be an accurate indication of such a thing. Where Louis was concerned, Jean suddenly believed it was entirely possible. The large toothed grin he seemed to display at everything was present in all the pictures that included him, while his sister wore a much more sedate, if no less warm, close mouthed smile.  
  
After Jean coaxed Armand out of the bathroom, Louis offered him a card for a doctor who 'always helped with these matters', and then flitted on to the subject of the color of the tile. Armand very nearly made it behind the shower curtain before Jean pulled him out to the front room. Louis' voice trailed out to them from the kitchen, where he had moved on to examining their dining table.  
  
"He's certainly something."  
  
"Something?" Armand looked on the verge of a coronary. "I can't imagine him being related to that monster or me. Let alone Anne."  
  
Defensive already? He had grown fond of her quickly. Jean would have been prouder if the moment hadn't been spoiled my Louis requesting a glass of water.  
  
"Let's tend to our guest, we can find out if he's lying later."  
  
"Lying. Why anyone would willingly claim parentage by--"  
  
"Let's try to avoid insulting his mother where he can hear us. Perhaps she's changed. Like you."  
  
The sour look Armand pulled conveyed his disbelief of such a thing ever occurring, but he kept his mouth shut. They entered the kitchen to find Louis' hands on every item on display. He seemed one of the sort not very capable of understanding boundaries, but another thought entered Jean's mind:  
  
What if he asked for money?  
  
What if Anne asked for money? Neither of their unusual guests appeared to be bad off, but that didn't mean anything. Why seek a parent so late in life? Jean did not consider himself a pessimist, but he had been through enough to be wary. He did not want Armand to have to deal with such a possibility as his long lost children using him for financial stability; especially when he was the only one in the house currently making any money.  
  
He got Louis a glass of water and the hyperactive man stopped talking long enough to actually drink it.  
  
Once it was empty he picked right back up. "And you have a live wood table. I've been thinking of getting one myself. Something to get people to talk about while we eat. Right now they only talk about me."  
  
It was hard to tell if he was genuinely distressed by being the center of attention. "My sister is friends with the artist. I can get you a card if you like."  
  
The blinding toothed smile was back. "Would you? And I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name when you came in."  
  
No, he had been too busy explaining his relationship to Armand and showing off pictures of his nieces and nephew. He probably would have done the same thing if the mailman showed up. "Jean Treville. I'm Armand's husband. It's a pleasure."  
  
Louis reached out to offer a handshake, but froze before he could make contact. "Husband! Why, my mother didn't enthrall you away from your marriage bed, did she?"  
  
Louis' plaintive gaze, and Jean's growing amusement, landed on a somewhat shell shocked Armand. When Jean did not bail him out, he croaked out a response. "No. We've only been married a few years."  
  
They had only been together for the past fifteen, leaving a considerable time gap prior to their relationship for Louis to be conceived during Armand's post-seminary phase. Jean didn't feel like bringing that up and finding out Louis lacked a basic understanding of arithmetic. Math, engineering, and the army, were things Jean held close. He did not need to irrationally start to dislike Louis because of any lack of interest in those topics. Especially math.  
  
"Oh thank God, mother can do things sometimes, but she is my mother."  
  
"Yes." Armand forced a smile. "Marie can do things."  
  
That he managed to not elaborate on that sentence showed just how much restraint he was putting into the conversation. Jean really was proud.  
  
Still, it was best not to let the conversation wander too much. "Louis, how did you find your father? Did Anne speak with you?"  
  
"Anne?"  
  
Two unknown children, completely unaware of each other, finding him on the same day. The heavens must have been aligning for something. Hopefully it was positive.  
  
"Who's Anne?" At their continued silence, his gaze bounced back and forth between them. "Well I can barely stand the suspense any longer, you simply must tell me."  
  
"Anne is... my daughter." Whether or not Armand paused because she had only come into his life earlier that afternoon, or because he was still adjusting didn't matter, Louis didn't seem to find it odd.  
  
"Why, I don't have a sister named Anne, I-- oh." Louis' brow scrunched together. Whatever was warring on his head lasted only a moment before his smile was back. "A new sister! I simply must meet her. Is she older? Younger? Oh wait, don't tell me, I want to be surprised. On second thought, I must know right now."  
  
Jean suddenly and fervently hoped their birthdays were far enough apart not to paint Armand in too bad a light.  


* * *

  
  
It wasn't unusual for Athos to come into the office and find Armand gone; the man had a five step client charming process that involved a semi-expensive meal and a bottle of wine he had never been able to emulate, but it was odd for him to be gone when he said he would be there. Especially when Athos had requested his assistance with a case. Constance would have told him if something came up, and there would have been a note waiting if she had to go out anywhere herself. After putting down his briefcase, he went in search for their errant secretary-sometimes-paralegal.  
  
Armand housed his law office in a converted two story apartment, giving them ample space for themselves, clients, and their law library (mainly Armand's) as well as a kitchenette. Athos was pretty sure Armand had lived in the building without anyone noticing prior to his relationship with Jean, but that was before his time. He knew what it was like to be married to ones work in such a capacity, and never really wanted to bring it up with his boss. Both of them were very comfortable leaving private matters out of their working relationship. Not that that stopped Jean from inviting him to dinner every now and again.  
  
Athos liked Armand's husband, even though their relationship baffled him to no end, he simply wasn't a very social person. Despite his lack of conversation skills, Jean still invited him to dinner once every few months, even after the drunken Christmas incident. Perhaps because of.  
  
Shuddering away the remembered embarrassment, Athos entered the kitchen area to find Constance. She was leaning against the door to the fridge, clutching a mug in her hands and chewing her bottom lip. Steam wasn't rising from the mug, so either it was empty, or the contents had gone cold.  
  
Her eyes were fixed on some distant point over his shoulder, and didn't move even when she spoke. "I made some tea."  
  
Athos looked to the counter, where a little teapot stood testament. "I see that. Constance, are you alright?"  
  
"Alright?" Her eyes finally focused on him. "Am I alright? I'm perfectly fine." She took a sip from her mug and grimaced. "I think Richelieu is dying."  
  
Athos blinked. "What?"  
  
"He's had heart problems in the past, you know that. Maybe something has finally happened? Or it could be Jean. Jean could be dying. He would hold himself together better. Then again, both of them are pretty--"  
  
"Constance." Athos was too worried to even try stepping farther into the room, lest he trigger another tirade. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Jean called earlier. Said Armand wasn't coming in, that something personal had come up. What does that mean?"  
  
Were they talking about any other man than Armand Richelieu, Athos might have told her she was overreacting, but considering that Jean was the only reason he did anything that wasn't work related....  
  
"What did he sound like on the phone?"  
  
"Just sort of... normal."  
  
"Normal?"  
  
"Maybe a little confused? But normal. I was so worried, maybe I made him put on a brave face." She started chewing her lip again.  
  
"I'm sure there's an explanation."  
  
"Of course there's an explanation, but what are the odds it isn't a bad one?"  
  
She had a point. "Maybe... maybe I should call."  
  
Constance's eyes widened at that, and it was no wonder. In the seven years he had worked for Armand, Athos could count the number of times he had made a non-work related call to the man on one hand.  
  
This would be the second time.  


* * *

  
  
Armand wanted to wake up, though he knew he wasn't dreaming. He wanted Jean to get angry, to panic, to do something other than be calm, so Armand would have a reason to pull himself together. His husband was sitting on the couch, patiently waiting for him to finish pacing though, and being utterly reasonable about the whole situation. Armand typically did not pace. When his mind raced, he liked to sit at his desk and write. His thoughts coalesced best when put to the page. He could barely think to string two words together in this moment though. He was pacing because he had nothing even incoherent bouncing between his ears.  


During his seventeenth pass of Jean on the couch, Armand finally turned and stared at him. “You aren't going to tell me to stop before I wear a hole in the floor?”

 

“I'm a little more worried about what you'll do if you stop.”

Armand dropped himself on the couch next to his husband, making Jean chuckle.

 

“I guess that isn't so bad.”

 

He stared at the far wall, something cohesive finally manifesting as words. “I never wanted children.” Jean liked children. Helping people discover their passions, teaching a new generation to look out for itself, Jean was good with children.

 

“There were ways to prevent it, even when we were young.”

 

Armand sprang back up from the couch. “We were Catholic! We weren't supposed to know what that was.”

 

“I thought using it was the sin, and wouldn't the pre-marital sex--”

 

“Yes.” Armand resumed his pacing, his husband's humor not lightening his mood.

 

Jean leaned forward on the couch, serious once again. “Neither of them tried to get in touch with you?”

 

“We didn't exactly have the internet.”

 

“Armand--”

 

“No. Neither of them.” Marie he could understand, but Anne's mother....

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled to retrieve it, not stopping his stride.

 

“Maybe you should let it go to voice mail.”

 

Armand ignored Jean's advice and answered without looking at the ID. “Hello?”

 

A relieved whoosh of air accompanied by a crackle of static let him know he was on speaker phone. He heard a muffled 'thank god' from Constance, while Athos' voice was much clearer. “It's Athos, I was--”

 

“We were worried sick about you! I thought you were dying.”

 

Armand moved the phone away from his ear as Constance voice suddenly blared through the speaker. He stopped pacing and stared at Jean on the couch. “What did you tell her?”

 

He raised his hands as if in surrender.

 

Athos voice was a much more respectable volume and Armand had to bring the phone back up to his ear in order to hear. “I had been hoping to discuss my case with you.”

 

Though he couldn't hear any words, Armand heard a soft _thwap_ which could have only been Constance hitting Athos' shoulder.

 

“And... to make sure you were alright.”

 

It sounded as if every syllable had been slowly dragged out of his mouth. It was the most concern Athos had ever expressed over him.  
  
Armand pinched the bridge of his nose. "You want to know what happened today?"  
  
Jean stood up from the couch. "Armand, I think--"  
  
He started speaking louder in order to drown out his husband. "I was visited by two adults claiming to be my children, one of which has a twin. I have three children and five grandchildren. I am not dying, one could say I have the opposite problem, an overabundance of relations. I'm having lunch with them both on Friday, but I'll see you at the office tomorrow and I'll go over the case with you at lunch. Goodbye."

 

He hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Jean stood in his way and prevented him from pacing again.

 

“What?”

 

His husband just rolled his eyes.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Athos! Also, I don't know why, but the spacing got weird in places. Ignore it?


End file.
